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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984611">Drop the Guillotine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartsy/pseuds/rosequartsy'>rosequartsy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>College AU, F/M, Reader Insert, background bokuaka - Freeform, barely there atsuhina, is Osamu ooc? Who knows, some smut not entirely</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:55:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartsy/pseuds/rosequartsy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things Osamu can’t stand about you—how you’re always in the apartment like you pay rent, how you must cook like this all the time for Atsumu, how you always talk during movies, how you never fail to make him laugh—but worse than any of that is how you’re dating his brother when he’s head over heels in love you you</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Reader, Miya Osamu/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>427</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Drop the Guillotine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I literally just wanted more Osamu content ig I have to do everything myself.<br/>The title is from the song drop the guillotine by peach pit 100% recommend listening to it</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s 6:45am on the dot when Osamu groans awake, stretching his tired, aching back. It’s still too early for daylight, so he fumbles out of bed in the dark, kicking through last night’s clothes, an open accounting textbook, and far, <em> far </em> too many snack wrappers to pass as healthy. He yanks down the string for his blinds, seeing nothing but endless fog for miles. </p><p>He yawns, wondering what could have possibly woken him up at this hour if not the sun, but hears the door slam, rattling the room. Seconds later, he sees Atsumu’s bright blonde head of hair booking it towards the bus stop adjacent to their parking building, and then he passes it. Osamu wants to collapse just looking at him. </p><p>He brings his mind to more important matters, like what he’s going to do now that he’s been rudely awakened. As he steps out of his room, the thought disappears as he realizes there’s something making a sound in the kitchen.</p><p>There should be more urgency in his step, but all he can think is <em> “If ‘Tsumu left the stove on I’m locking him out.” </em></p><p>But the sound quickly changes as he hears a spatula scrape against a pan. His blood pressure spikes, and he rounds the corner cautiously. </p><p>In retrospect, there was no reason for him to become so tense. It couldn’t have been anyone else but you. (Or perhaps that was the sole reason for it.)</p><p>You have your headphones in. Osamu snorts, thinking of a joke, and he laughs even louder when he sees you jump.</p><p>“Fucking hell!” you scream, holding the spatula like you were going to hurt him with it. When you blink and realize who it is, you clutch your hand over your heart. “You scared the living shit out of me!”</p><p>It’s Osamu’s turn to have his heart leap out of his chest. The sight of you sloppily dressed while cooking breakfast is something that’s only haunted his dreams; but you’re here now, like the ghost of girlfriends past. One of Atsumu’s shirts hangs loosely on your frame—he assumes it’s his brothers, because the sleeves are down to your elbows. </p><p>He’s stuck in this trance for a moment, until you turn back to the stove. You plate some <em> yakizakana </em> before placing another strip in the pan. The sizzling almost drowns your voice. “Atsumu woke me up, screaming about how he was going to be late to practice.”</p><p>There’s always a joking edge to your voice. Osamu chuckles, and despite himself he sits at the counter, watching you. “Is that why he’s running all the way to the gym?”</p><p>“Eh? Are you for real?” You punctuate a scoff by shaking the pan. The fish swirls around the pan smoothly, expertly. Osamu follows it with his eyes, lest he look at you for too long and feel his heart constrict. He should be showering, getting dressed, maybe gathering the notes scattered across his bedroom, but he’s glued to the chair, watching. </p><p>It’s quiet between you two again. Osamu isn’t sure if he prefers it this way, but it’s customary; whenever company isn’t around to be floored by your presence you’re quiet, as if you’re lost somewhere.There’s something about the long stare you give the pan that clues him in, but he’ll be damned if he ever asks you about it. He knows what you’d say next. Or, at least he thinks he does.</p><p>A plate slides in front of him. It’s that second piece of fish, perfectly sauteed. Your hands gently place a bowl of rice next to it, piled high, like he likes. Osamu blinks, then looks up to see you plating your own food.</p><p>He opens his mouth, but you’re already talking over him. “It’s probably not as good as yours, but,” you raise your bowl of rice like you’re giving a toast. Yours is topped with a raw egg and Osamu feigns throwing up. </p><p>“You’re not seriously going to eat that in front of me.”</p><p>You look down in confusion, pointing to it. “What, this?” </p><p>“S’ fuckin disgusting,” he says around the rice in his mouth. </p><p>“Tasteless,” you mutter back, but there’s a smile on your face. Osamu couldn’t wipe his off if he tried, watching you smear yolk all over the perfectly steamed rice. He notes that you’re eating standing up on the other side of the kitchen, but you’re facing him, watching his every bite. The silence this time is a little more stifling. He doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know if he <em> can </em> think. All he can focus on is how you bring umeboshi to your lips and-</p><p>“Wait,” Osamu narrows his eyes at you. “You had umeboshi and didn’t share?”</p><p>You widen your eyes at being caught, but recover fast. “It’s your fridge, why didn’t you check?”</p><p>“You’re the worst host of all time. And this is my fucking apartment.” </p><p>The fake offense on your face makes him break. Over his laughter he can hear you say, “I’ll literally take my breakfast back!” and it riles him up even further. He tries to bite the inside of his cheek but he can’t quiet himself. </p><p>There are many things about you he can’t stand—how you’re always in the apartment like you pay rent, how you must cook like this all the time for Atsumu, how you always talk during movies, how you’re dating his brother, of course—but worse than any of that (maybe not the last one) is how you manage to make him laugh. It’s a problem. You’re the only person who makes him crack constantly, just by your presence alone. It was how he knew he was falling head over heels for you, and it’s how he knows he’s still fucked.</p><p>So he bites his lip until it bleeds, shoving rice into his mouth. The moment is over, and you’re timidly stirring your vile rice and egg yolk mixture with your chopsticks. The silence is suffocating. </p><p>The guilt settles in Osamu’s stomach. The leftover salmon is suddenly too oily, too much. He wants to vomit—god, if you made his favorite pastime unbearable, he might just run in front of the campus bus. </p><p>You don’t say anything when he gets up, leaving the leftovers on the table. Maybe it’s rude, but he can’t help but feel like he’s doing something forbidden, like <em> laughing </em> with his brother’s girlfriend, despite you being on good terms. Despite the heartwrenching thought that this could be his everyday reality.  </p><p>He slams the door to his room. When he throws himself into bed, he acts as if your interaction was all a dream.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu can’t truly feel bad about falling in love with you—he never really stood a chance. </p><p>Imagine being in a small, shitty apartment, afforded by two college sophomores who were a long way from home, with part time jobs at the university. Their disastrous apartment can probably hold three people comfortably, and not the ten people that were already crowded into the living room. </p><p>“Iwa-chan, this apartment fucking sucks, no wonder it’s 45.000 a month.” Atsumu is the rare kind of asshole who usually gets away with things like this because his grin makes people swoon. But Iwaizumi Hajime is 1) used to this behavior and 2) in a loving and healthy long distance relationship with Oikawa Toru, who could probably trim Atsumu’s undercut with a jump serve. </p><p>Needless to say, before Iwaizumi can literally slap manners into Atsumu, Bokuto clamps his biceps around his head and closes off his throat. He calls it a hug. Atsumu can barely breathe.</p><p>“Tsum Tsum! You don’t have to be upset that Iwa’s apartment is less than yours!” As per usual, Atsumu’s lack of sincerity is lost on his cheerful teammate. From afar, Osamu sees the light dim out of his brother’s eyes, but remains quiet. Akaashi Keiji, the reticent and calm partner of the man currently choking out Osamu’s twin, doesn't flinch either. </p><p>Osamu and Akaashi make eye contact for the first time, despite being next to each other all night. They nod once, then continue to silently and peacefully coexist. </p><p>Imagine coming to a get together held by your twin brother’s teammate simply because there would be food. And also because there had been a statistics midterm earlier that week, and Osamu was pretty sure he only wanted to face those results with a hangover. </p><p>And then the front door cracks open, and everything changes. </p><p>“Hello?” Bokuto calls out. He unceremoniously leaves Atsumu gasping for air to scope out the newcomer. They must be someone special, because Bokuto’s voice skyrockets from loud to deafening. </p><p>“YOU’RE HERE!” he screams, and then there’s giggling. The whole room seems to turn its head because it’s a girl's laughter. The other two girls in the room—Osamu can’t remember their names, just that they’re also tangentially attached to Bokuto—rush to see what the fuss is about. </p><p>“Hey, okay! You’re boxing me in!” And parting from the adoring crowd is you, beaming a gorgeous smile at everyone in your path. Several others flutter in your direction like bees to a flower; everyone wants to see you, wants to talk to you, to have your smile directed at them. Osamu cannot for the life of him figure out who you are or why you’re so important, but he also can’t help but keep his eyes fixed on you when you’re talking, as if every word out of your mouth is a gospel. That laugh you keep giving is proof.</p><p>You gloss over the people in the apartment, then your eyes stick to his little corner. His heart rate jumps when you walk over, but Akaashi stands to meet you.</p><p>He says your name with a smile on his face. Osamu didn’t even think he could make that expression at a person who wasn’t Bokuto. He <em> talks </em> to you, without the flat intonation of boredom. You truly are a deity.</p><p>Your conversation is interrupted by Bokuto handing his boyfriend a glass of wine, which Akaashi narrows his eyes at. “Where did this come from?”</p><p>“It’s <em> mine </em>,” you say sharply, snatching the glass from the silver haired spiker. “I don’t remember saying you could open that.”</p><p>“You brought it to my house!”</p><p>Your eyes flit between the recycling bin overflowing with cans of beer, and Bokuto. “I think you volleyboys have managed just fine before I got here.”</p><p>Something about your deadpan face and the absolute absurdity of the word “volleyboys” coming from you in such a serious tone made Osamu snort. You heard it too, because your eyes narrowed when you sipped your drink. </p><p>“Oh,” Bokuto says, as if it’s suddenly just occurred to him that Osamu was there.  “(Name), you probably don’t know Osamu. You know Atsumu, right?”</p><p>Your eyes never leave Osamu’s, not even when you say, “Bokuto, you’re just saying words with no meaning.”</p><p>Akaashi laughs behind his hand, politely, gently. “That’s his usual, (Name)-san.” He’s got amazing manners for someone so rude.</p><p>Bokuto is seemingly unperturbed by being made fun of. He instead cups his hands and screams “ATSUMU! GET OVER HERE!”</p><p>You wince, shooting Bokuto a nasty glare and taking a drink. You return your stare to Osamu, who’s trying to look as disinterested as possible. It’s usually not hard to do, but your interactions are amusing. Through the doting boyfriends you shoot him a small smile. It’s the first of many you’ll be giving out that night. </p><p>“I’m (Surname),” you tell him. “Friend of a boyfriend of Bokuto’s.”</p><p>“Osamu,” he replies, already thinking of how much he likes your name. Your brows shoot up.</p><p>“We’re just giving out first names then?”</p><p>That causes a genuine smile to grace his lips. Again, the first of many you will eventually coax from him. “I’d say you’re special, but it’s just circumstance.” </p><p>He knows you’re about to ask what circumstance, but at that perfectly timed moment Bokuto taps your shoulder. You turn to him, then catch sight of Atsumu giving you a lazy grin. Your eyes widen.</p><p>“Twins!” You swivel your head between the two of them. The way you bit your lip with too much mischief to be innocent makes heat rise to Osamu’s face. You’re excited, bouncing on your toes. “That’s very cool.”</p><p>“Not really,” Atsumu shrugs. “It’s a burden, actually.”</p><p>“I agree, Tsumu’s the worst.”</p><p>Getting you to tilt your head back and laugh had felt like the crowning achievement of Osamu’s life. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire around you. The pain hasn’t ebbed quite like he thought it would, rather, it’s morphed into something more scathing and less pleasant. </p><p>Not that being in love with you had brought him anything but misery from the start. </p><p>But sometimes Osamu likes to cling to this memory, because it’s simpler this way. </p><p> </p><p>Contrary to popular belief, you are not popular. </p><p>This assumption is made by the sheer and singular fact that you are dating Atsumu Miya. Or perhaps it was made before, when you became friends with Bokuto Kotarou, UTokyo’s most beloved student athlete. The belief is predicated by instagram tags and twitter mentions, but none of them have ever told the fact of the matter.</p><p>And the fact is, you’re not cool, just clingy.</p><p>You’ve heard people say it. When you’re walking down the halls, people eye you, even though your head is ducked and you’re minding your own business. Maybe it’s the clothes—it’s probably the shoes, clicks echoing off the tile floors as loud as a gunshot. The literature department is a dreary place, and you’ve always stood out against it.</p><p>Hmm, no, not always. But you do now, for some reason.</p><p>You ignore it; you have places to be. Your shoes clickity-clack all the way to the campus coffee shop, where your coffee date is waiting for you.</p><p>It’s not Atsumu. When you greet your friends you try not to think about the fact that Atsumu doesn’t always travel around with you in public. You two lead very different lives, or at least, you will one day, when he goes pro and you become an ordinary citizen, like everyone else.</p><p>Your coffee dates (plural) are Yukie and Hifumi, and they are treacherous women because they zero in on the bruises you’re so obviously trying to hide in your high collared shirt. </p><p>“Bit hot for that, isn’t it?” Yukie smirks.</p><p>“You’ve got a little something on the collar, too,” Hifumi’s smile is bright, but wicked around the edges. Their two pronged attack makes your cheeks burn, but you’d die before admitting defeat to them.</p><p>The three of you are an odd trio. Hifumi Mikado was a so-called volleyball groupie who begged Yukie—the same Yukie Shirofuku staring back at her now—for an introduction to <em> the </em>Bokuto Kotaro in exchange for 5000 yen. Yukie did just that, without the explanation that he’d been in a relationship with Akaashi for going on two years.</p><p>And despite being conned, Hifumi still considered Yukie a valuable friend. Yukie won’t ever admit the same; she claims Hifumi is an endless supplier of food, which, of course, her rich parents are. But being given food is Yukie’s primary love language, so she likes Hifumi a hell of a lot. </p><p>You entered the picture because Yukie can only make friends by solicitation, or so it seemed: she paid you the same 5000 yen she conned from Hifumi to write a paper for her. You both got scolded by mutual friend and snitch Akaashi Keiji when he caught wind of it. </p><p>College sure was exciting, wasn’t it?</p><p>Your best friend group was laughably small, but you loved them regardless. Except maybe now, when Hifumi and Yukie were grinning at you like maniacs.</p><p>“Funny how you’re teasing me when I have a semester worth of blackmail on both of you,” you shoot back. Hifumi laughs as though her reputation being tarnished is the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard. </p><p>“I still have videos of you twerking from the New Years’ party.”</p><p>Your skin prickles at the mention of the New Years party, but for seperate reasons. “That video was on Tendou’s snapchat, thank you, next.”</p><p>“I think she’s immune to embarrassment, Fumi,” Yukie says, somehow smugly. “I mean, who in their right mind would dare to wear such an uptight, virginal white shirt over a choker of hickies.”</p><p>You roll your eyes.”I don’t do this on purpose, you know.”</p><p>“Did you fuck Atsumu on accident, then?”</p><p>“We didn’t fuck, if you’re so curious.” And then, much lower you add, “Haven’t for quite some time.”</p><p>“Ooooohh!” Hifumi giggles, her voice gaining the attention of some wondering eyes. “Now I want to hear this!”</p><p>The thought of airing out your sex life in this crowded coffee shop while an indie cover of Stressed Out played on the speakers did not appeal to you. In fact, it made you sick enough to push the snacks you ordered away from you lest you vomit over them.</p><p>“No,” you tell her sternly, despite the sweet, pleading face she’s giving you. You have half a mind to really tell her off, but it’d be like kicking a puppy—cruel and punishable by death.</p><p>You have to tell her, “No,” again in a slightly softer voice, then sigh. “Things are just. I don’t know.”</p><p>“A literature major doesn’t have the words?” Yukie teases. </p><p>“We’re people of few, concise ones, actually. Also, since when is this about me?”</p><p>“Everything’s always about you.”</p><p>You frown. “Makes me sound conceited.”</p><p>“You’re dating, like, the most celebrated member of the volleyball team. I think you get to be a little conceited.”</p><p>It occurs to you in this moment—not for the first time—that you are conditional to Atsumu. He is your crowning achievement, and nothing more. Him, the boy you’ve decided to stick with for God knows what reason.</p><p>Atsumu is fun. Atsumu is clever, talented, handsome. He texts you dumb things every day, and it makes you laugh. Atsumu showers you with affection sometimes, but he isn’t romantic. Atsumu is all of these things, and he is also head over heels for some guy he can’t have, and has told you this on several drunken occasions. </p><p>You don’t deserve to be conceited, because you’re not dating Japan’s best setter; you’re simply clinging to him.  </p><p>Why?</p><p>Yukie snaps her fingers in front of your face, and when you come back to reality you realize she must have been doing it for a long time. She furrows her brow, and it scares you, because it’s the most serious you’ve ever seen her.</p><p>“What?” You have the gall to say this like she wasn’t waiting for you. </p><p>“What were you thinking about?”</p><p>“Is this an interrogation?”</p><p>“Did Atsumu give you those hickies?”</p><p>You snort at the irony. “Yeah, he did. I’m not cheating on him.”</p><p>Hifumi brings herself into the questioning. They’d make such a great good cop/bad cop tag team. “Then why are you avoiding questions about him?”</p><p>The song switches to one you know from a playlist Kuroo Tetsurou made for you the first time Atsumu admitted he was in love with someone else. You had been ranting about it in Keiji’s apartment while he made it. He named it <em> Sad Boy Hours </em> with a teardrop emoji, and you only listen to it on nights when you’re lonely and you hate your predicament. So like, all the time. </p><p>Hearing it makes you angry enough to have the balls to say: “Because I want to break up with him.”</p><p>They look at one another as if you’ve brandished a knife. Saying it out loud doesn’t make you want to take them back, it only helps to solidify your decision.</p><p>But you hate being looked at. You avert your eyes to your nails.“You gunna share those thoughts or just stare at me judgmentally? Cause I have better things to do.”</p><p>They share that infuriating look again and Yukie senses the tight coil about to snap in your eyes. “Okay!” she tries to say it with urgency, but her voice just can’t do it. She sounds perpetually tired, like Osamu does. It’s slightly endearing.</p><p>Wait, where the fuck did <em> that </em> come from?</p><p>“It just. It really sounds insane when you say it out loud doesn’t it?”</p><p>“No, it doesn’t.”</p><p>Hifumi scoffs. “So you’ve completely lost it.”</p><p> “Personally, I think it’s weird that you want to break up with a boy who’s destined to be a pro-athlete, and tens of millions of girls would rip apart your flesh to have.”</p><p>Hifumi winces. “That’s disgusting, Yukie.”</p><p>You sigh. It’s always like this; somehow your <em> personal </em> thoughts on <em> your </em> relationship with Atsumu were put on the backburner for the “facts” of his clout and his future. You figure there’s probably no one on this campus who wouldn’t commit you to a hospital for saying this, but you thought you’d be safe with them. Perhaps it <em> does </em> confirm your insanity.</p><p>As if you’ve said this all aloud, Hifumi sighs. It’s light and puffy and angelic, because Hifumi Mikado is an actual angel. Her glossy pink lips pout at you. “We’re only saying this because it’s true.”</p><p>“I know.” And you do. But. “It’s just. I want more.”</p><p>“What more could you want?”</p><p>“There’s more to a relationship than clout and a good instagram post.” </p><p>Yukie sighs, then starts tearing into your leftover food like she’s stress eating. As if <em> you </em> breaking up with <em> your </em> boyfriend is stressful to her. “Since when did you go all philosophical on us?” she says this in between bites, chewing with her mouth open. Hifumi wrinkles her nose delicately. “I think I like the girl who dances on tables better.”</p><p>You’re not sure when exactly you became her. “I don’t,” you say, and Yukie looks at you pointedly. </p><p>Though Yukie had made your acquaintance by planning to break the law, she was, without a doubt, the best friend you could ever ask for. Having spent three years of her life constantly managing the ever changing moods of one Bokuto Kotarou (and on occasion, helping Akaashi through a spiral), she was quite emotionally intelligent. Not only that, but her ability to read a person’s face was enviable by Sherlock Holmes, were he alive and a college student and not on heroin. </p><p>So when she looks at your face in a manner that some may say suggests constipation, you know she’s put <em> something </em> together.    </p><p>“I think you’ve made up your mind already.” Yukie says, and she folds her arms and sits back like that’s that on the matter. Hifumi blinks, unsure of what just unfolded, but she sighs. It’s angelic, obviously. </p><p>“It’s your life.”</p><p>“Will I ruin it if I do this?”</p><p>Hifumi shrugs. “You don’t even really like sports.”</p><p>Your laugh is a little too loud for the room. “That makes it sound easy.”</p><p>“It’s not like you’re breaking up with him for someone else.”</p><p><em> Obviously </em> that wasn’t the reason. There was no one waiting in the wings for you after Atsumu. No one, definitely not someone with dark lidded eyes that watched your every move like a hawk. Not someone who made you nervous for no good goddamn reason. Not someone who’s lazy voice you found soothing and endearing.</p><p>Yukie’s back went rigid, and she sprang up in her chair. Her eyes scanned your face as easily as reading a book. You didn’t know why you felt so panicked under her gaze. Perhaps it was that narrowed eyed look she gave you, like she was suspicious. </p><p>“What?” you challenged, although your voice was hardly a whisper. Yukie sits back down again, but she keeps squinting at you like you’re blurry.</p><p>Or lying. </p><p> </p><p>Osamu is dangerously close to dropping out of college. </p><p>If not for the ridiculous amount of work he must do as a business major, it’ll be because the several part-time shifts he’s picked up at the restaurant are becoming increasingly more difficult to balance. He’s highly aware that he’s got barely more than a semester left before his business degree is done, but at this rate his burnout might kill him.</p><p>He’s booking it back to his apartment (if speed walking can be considered booking it; though to Osamu Miya it surely is), and he’s unsure if he’ll truly be able to get changed and make it to work in the next forty minutes and counting down. He can’t cut his losses on this one, and frankly, he doesn’t want to. Spending the next six hours balling onigiri sounds better than someone offering him cocaine. And both of these things have happened to him.</p><p>The busy intersection just outside campus is the only thing that throws a wrench into his half-baked plan to get home on time. He doesn’t make it in the first wave of students, so he has to wait with the slow gathering masses for the next turn. Students swarm him in groups—there are a few who blink twice in his direction, no doubt trying to remember which twin he is, but there are others who give him nods or waves. They know Osamu doesn’t talk, and this is true. You know this too. </p><p>So it’s jarring when you slide up to him and say, “Hey.”</p><p>Firstly, it’s wild to see you in the first place. UTokyo is a huge place, and he’s thankful for that, as it means his chances of being caught off guard by seeing you are reduced to decimal points. But the gods surely didn’t favor him, despite him bragging to Atsumu he would live the better life. He’s learned to never make such bold claims again.</p><p>Osamu doesn’t so much as turn to you, but he does look at you through the corner of his eye. It’s been a few days since the kitchen incident (as he’s been referring to it), and he’s barely seen you since. It hasn’t been the nightmare he once thought it would be. Distancing himself from you made his head clearer, helped him focus on anything other than the crushing weight of his heart.</p><p>The masses shift forward. It’s the perfect opportunity to pretend like he never heard you and shuffle away. But he can’t; it’s those eyes of yours, lit perfectly by the afternoon sun and staring at him with expectancy. </p><p> “Hi,” he replies in the indifferent tone he’s mastered over the years. It’s never felt like a mask before, but there’s a first time for everything.</p><p>You don’t seem bothered by it. Like him, very little seems to bother you. He wonders if that’s something he likes about you too. </p><p>“Where’re you headed?”</p><p>“The apartment.” </p><p>“Oh, same.”</p><p>When you two have navigated safely out of the throng of students, he can get a better look at you. Osamu has rarely ever seen you on campus, despite Atsumu always bemoaning that you live there. Your backpack looks heavy and your shoes cannot be comfortable to walk half a mile in, but you keep up easily. </p><p>In an effort to keep something in this awkward silence (since when had silences with you become so tense?), Osamu says, “Atsumu won’t be home for some time, he’s got practice today.”</p><p>“I know.” Obviously you would. You’re quite the efficient girlfriend. “I wanted to get there ahead of him.”</p><p>There’s something off about your tone. You keep looking to the ground whenever he mentions his brother—your <em> boyfriend. </em>“You planning something?” </p><p>You finally look up again, but now your face is scrunched in objection.“Why do you always think I’m up to something?”</p><p>“Aren’t you?”</p><p>There’s a smile that passes between you two, but when Osamu thinks of the circumstances he wills it away. He can feel you still looking at him. </p><p>“You work the night shift today, yeah?”</p><p>An active frown settles on his face. He doesn’t want to think of the implications of you and Atsumu being alone in the apartment, but he’s sure it’s happened before. “Yeah, from four till ten, why?” He doesn’t mean to sound intrusive when he asks it, but there’s a morbid curiosity eating at him. </p><p>“No reason in particular,” you shrug, and Osamu begins to openly gape at you. You mockingly return the stare. “Is that a crime, Miya?”</p><p>He comically closes his lips. “No.”</p><p>“Then don’t make it a big deal.”</p><p>“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were stalking me.”</p><p>“Why would I stalk your place of business when I already know where you live? I could sneak into your house any time I want.”</p><p>“It’s not really sneaking when we leave the door unlocked,” he reminds you.</p><p>“That shit’s insane. You better lock your doors because I’ll be coming for you, Miya.” </p><p>He disregards the innuendo because the thought of you trying to break into their apartment—you, a 4.0 goody two shoes parading as a wild child—is the funniest thing. </p><p>“Pfft, you couldn’t even kick down a door.”</p><p>“Um, have you seen these?” You almost trip trying to hold up the cleated platforms. Osamu laughs harder. </p><p>“Yeah, and I’m seeing you trip on flat ground.”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>“You keep following me.”</p><p>The banter is childish and stupid and easy. It’s all fun and games until someone catches feelings, Osamu thinks to himself, because he <em> cannot </em> fully enjoy this moment. He’s not an overthinker in any other capacity but this. If he could put this much energy into, let’s say, actually giving a shit about school work, he’d probably be better off for it. </p><p>But making you smile might be worth flunking out.  </p><p>The rest of the walk is just as mind-numbingly brilliant. You sway when you walk, not quite like a drunk, more so like a child. It makes your shoulders brush and the friction makes goosebumps prickle on his skin.  You two go up the stairs to the apartment in tandem, never taking your eyes off one another, but also never speaking. Just basking in one another's presence.</p><p>There is no need for him to even do this—he’s got twenty minutes to travel a twenty-five minute distance, and it’s in the moment that he opens the door for you (“like a gentleman,” you joke) does he understand just how fucked he is. How fucked he’s <em> always been. </em> He’s never quite figured out how to get over you. Perhaps he’s in love with these unrequited feelings more than he is with you; it would explain why he’s still harbouring this crush on you, despite it quite literally ruining his life.</p><p>It’s 3:59 when he clocks in to work. The head cook looks at Osamu like he’s lost his mind, but says nothing. </p><p>Osamu is beginning to really fucking hate silences. </p><p> </p><p>You were in love with Atsumu, once upon a time.</p><p>Tendou Satori was a prominent figure in the UTokyo party scene. He was a big fan of holidays, and a bigger fan of holiday <em> parties </em>. This, coupled with the fact that he had every prominent volleyball team member's number in his contacts, was a recipe for a good time. </p><p>You, with your burgeoning connections to said volleyball team, were a quick addition to the invite list. It took you several months and several shots to gather up the courage to finally dress up like in a skimpy, half assed New Years’ themed costume as you had wanted to for years. You wouldn’t call that your first mistake; you quite liked the costume. Your first mistake was drinking whatever the fuck Tendou had handed you, even if it tasted like juice. Although, it turns out drunk you is the life of the party.</p><p>Your second mistake was getting on top of a <em> glass </em> table and shaking your ass, but you’d blame the actual breaking of the table on the people after you. It’s amazing how much influence you’d had on people—everyone is either staring at you in awe or trying to comprehend you. <em> Good fucking luck with that one. </em></p><p>Atsumu Miya was your third mistake. You’re really blitzed out of your mind and reaching for another cup of whatever that night’s jungle juice special was when a hand swooped in. </p><p>“Hey,” you slur, because it’s all you can do without yelling. The asshole with your drink starts sipping it, and with your drunken motor skills a light tap turns into the drink spilling on the floor. “HEY! Don’t ignore me!”</p><p>The carpet got yet another stain, and someone wailed.  But the boy, now with cherry red stained lips served you a heavy lidded glare. Those golden eyes gave you a once over, and his teeth gleamed with a smirk. He had sharp looking canines<em> , </em>and in your alcohol dazed mind you wondered what they’d be like on your neck. </p><p>You were just bold enough to ask. And he was game enough to reply. He left you with a necklace of bruises (it soon becomes his specialty with you) and his number, promising to give you more when you’re not drunk enough to vomit. </p><p>It’s not your ideal meet cute. Actually, nothing about Atsumu is ideal, and that thought didn’t take you several months to figure out. </p><p>But yet, you’re still here.</p><p>You’ve been thinking about it for the past few hours (though truly, you’ve been thinking about it for weeks). You’re alone in the twin’s apartment, not for the first time. The day you made Osamu breakfast and he subsequently bolted was the first time you’d been alone here. The first time you felt lonely, too. </p><p>You dwell on that moment more than you’d like to admit. There’s no escaping the memory, not when you’re rummaging through their fridge like a racoon with an empty stomach. But the longer you have to wait for Atsumu the more nervous you become, and the more you want to eat. </p><p>There’s several takeout boxes sitting on one of the shelves. The boxes themselves are nondescript, but the onigiri inside looks immaculate. Several of them are delicately wrapped in <em>nori</em>, others sprinkled with sesame seeds. They’re likely leftovers from Osamu’s job. </p><p>You don’t know why you decide to pick one up; they’re not for you. But there is something so charming about them that you must examine it closer. The triangle shape is perfect, like the store bought ones. You think about Osamu, smiling behind a counter, molding the rice with his hands. They’re so elegant, polished. He probably put a lot of work into it. </p><p>Something that’s not rice or <em>tarako</em> tastes like salt on the corner of your lips, and you realize you’re crying while you eat it. You laugh, trying to wipe your eyes lest Atsumu come in and see you crying over onigiri in the fridge. You should text Kuroo about this; he thrives on your misery like daytime television. </p><p>It takes you far longer than usual to make it through the onigiri—you’re usually done in three bites, but you’re savouring this one, for whatever reason (you know the reason, you just hate saying it). By the time you finish the door knob is rattling, and so are your ribs as your heart pounds in your chest. </p><p>The sight of Atsumu coming into his apartment elicits a reaction you haven’t felt in a long time. Instead of having those happy butterflies mosh in your stomach, they fall like heavy stones of dread. Atsumu’s eyes widen when he sees you, and he lets out a small laugh. </p><p>“How long were you sitting here alone?” Under fluorescent lights his hair dons a rather ugly brassy sheen. He’s probably not using that purple shampoo you bought him. That, or it needs a redye. You should ask him about that.</p><p>Or maybe not. In a few seconds that will no longer be your job. It hardly was in the first place.</p><p>Your lack of an answer makes him wave his hands in front of your face. He’s bending over with his hands cocked on his hips, looming above you in a way that’s not condescending, more like fondness. He smiles and shakes his head at you. </p><p>“Sometimes I wonder where you go when you’re like that.”</p><p>Atsumu figured out long ago that the girl who asks to get her neck bitten was not you, but a performance. The real you was such a puzzle to him that it was better to just leave you be. He was a pro-athlete after all, he had to save that energy for important things. </p><p>Right. You were never that.</p><p>The realization (or rather, re-realization) leads you to blurt, “Atsumu, I can’t do this anymore.”</p><p>He doesn’t give you the grace of freezing, or even pretending to be hurt. He chuckles, bitter but genuine. Possibly the most honest he’s been with you.“Yeah, it’s about time.”</p><p>The words sting. Even if you didn’t love Atsumu, the idea that he thinks you fucked him for clout is a little sour. And far from the truth. </p><p>Atsumu dips into the fridge and takes out one of the gently wrapped onigiri. He eats it with no reverence, but when he looks up at you his gaze is affectionate. “Thanks for taking care of me though. I really appreciate it.”</p><p>You don’t even blink. “I wasn’t pretending to care about you, Atsumu.”</p><p>He hums, like he doesn’t believe it. The countertop is between you two, and the familiarity of the moment isn’t lost on you. You wonder if he figured it out long before you did—it seems like the kind of unbelievable thing the monstrous Atsumu Miya could do.  </p><p><em> It’s about time </em>, he said, but you’re forgetting that he’s in the wrong too. His heart never belonged to you. You don’t particularly care though. The night you went to Akaashi’s house to rant about Atsumu’s emotional infidelity, the boys kept asking if you were okay. You found it strange, because you were never sad, never heartbroken. Atsumu didn’t make you cry.</p><p>Osamu did, the day he left you in the apartment alone. </p><p>“Can I ask you something?” </p><p>“Shoot.” He’s wildly casual for someone getting broken up with, licking the salt off his fingers. </p><p>“Did you ever love me?”</p><p>In the couple of months you’ve gotten to know Atsumu, you’ve learned to read him. He only says what he means if he’s not upset, otherwise he hides behind extra sarcasm and bite until he’s better. Roll his eyes, scoffs, pretends he isn’t hurt, and then takes it all out on his brother or his spikers. Or himself. </p><p>Yes, you know him well. That’s how you know he’s not lying when he sighs, saying, “Yes. I loved you. I loved having you around. I still do, actually. But I was never <em> in </em> love with you.” Another bite of his onigiri. </p><p>The weight in your chest dissipates. “For what it’s worth,” you say picking up your backpack, “I still care about you. I want to be your friend, if that’s okay.”</p><p>“You already are, stop being sentimental.” He’s reaching for another onigiri, not even looking at you. “I’ve always hated that about you.”</p><p>“You’re an asshole.”</p><p>He talks with his mouth full like the heathen he is. “So I’ve been told.”</p><p>You like this, actually. You like talking to him without the barrier of acting. Atsumu never lies to peoples’ faces, and the idea that everything going smoothly strikes you as odd. </p><p>So of course he reassures you: “By the way, ‘Samu gets off at ten tonight.”</p><p>You do give him the honor of freezing, and he laughs at you. “What, you think I didn’t know?”</p><p>You have to face him. It  would be rude and disrespectful not to. You expect some kind of clouded, tortured smile but he’s simply biting into a new onigiri, one with seeds. </p><p>“You’re not upset?”</p><p>“I just thought you had better taste than that.”</p><p>Of course. Sincerity is scary to Atsumu, so acknowledging pain wasn’t on his agenda. It’s presumptuous to think he’s in pain though, when he’s clearly claimed to not have loved you like that. </p><p>But you’re not a heartless dick, so you push, “Atsumu—“</p><p>“God you’re using your psychology minor voice,” he says, stripping the serious air you tried to employ. “You want me to be serious?”</p><p>“That would be ideal.”</p><p>“Tough shit, babe, it ain’t really worth it. Go get your man, or whatever.” </p><p>And despite how much of an insincere asshole he is, Atsumu cares for both you and his brother. You reward his kindness with a chaste kiss to the cheek and a warm smile. “Thanks, ‘Tsumu.”</p><p>He smiles back, his megawatt grin. “You’re so very welcome,” he replies smugly. You sling your backpack onto your shoulders when you decide to knock him down a few pegs. </p><p>“By the way, your hair color looks like shit.”</p><p>He chokes on rice. “The <em> fuck </em> did ya say?!”</p><p>“Goodbye, Miya!”</p><p> </p><p>Getting off at ten after a particularly brutal night and promptly crashing to bed sounds real fucking nice to Osamu, but the gods aren’t done making him suffer. </p><p>When he walks into his apartment, Atsumu is studying his hair in the mirror so intently, Osamu has to say “Your ugly mug is going to crack that thing if you don’t back away.”</p><p>The middle finger is up so quickly it must be a world record. “I’d tell you to piss off but I need your opinion.”</p><p>“Yes, your outfit is bad,” Osamu slurs lazily.</p><p>“It ain’t about the outfit!”</p><p>“Yes, your hair looks bad, you need a trim you fuckin e-boy.”</p><p>There’s a deep calming sigh that Atsumu tries to make. Osamu would be impressed if he wasn’t so bone tired. He crashed into the couch, reclining his head to loosen the stiffness.</p><p>“It’s not the length—does the color look bad?”</p><p>Osamu cranes his neck to look at his brother. “What makes you say that?”</p><p>“(Name) said it looks like shit.”</p><p>He loses his balance a little, jutting out one foot to steady himself. A snort escapes his lips, but he really hadn’t meant to lose his composure. “Did she really say that?”</p><p>Atsumu, with his allergy to taking anything seriously, says “Yeah, like fucking seconds after she dropped my ass.”</p><p>Now Osamu’s on the floor. His brother looks at him with a glance equal parts smug and annoyed. “Damn, I knew you’d be happy, but dial it back. Also get the fuck up, you’re in the way.” Atsumu steps over his brother unceremoniously, kicking his back on his way down the hallway.</p><p>But he can’t get up because he’s got fucking vertigo or whiplash or some other kind of dizziness that’s making his vision swim. “Are you serious?”</p><p>“Why would I lie!” Atsumu’s voice is far away, and Osamu is clipping through the floor. </p><p>You; perfect, fun, cool girl you who looks so good with his brother’s arm wrapped around your shoulders; who looked so <em> happy </em> with him. Was that why you were staring at the ground? Why you hesitated upon the mention of him. It all clicked together in his head but somehow, it wasn’t adding up. He never was good at math. </p><p>“You don’t seem upset,” Osamu replies, and Atsumu sticks his head out of the bathroom. He has a flat glare aimed at his brother, before he swings back in. </p><p>“Between you and me, we were more friend-with-benefits,” he starts, and Osamu isn’t sure whether or not this is good news. “And then we stopped having benefits so I guess we were just friends?”</p><p>“You don’t have friends who are girls.”</p><p>“Right? But she’s so nice to me without wanting anything in return.” Atsumu shakes his head and says “crazy” as if this is such an unprecedented thing. </p><p>It’s hopeless. He’ll never get anything remotely relevant out of his brother, not when he’s preoccupied with thinking he’s the next coming of Christ. Osamu sits cross legged on the floor, weighing his options—which he doesn’t have. </p><p>He has been waiting for this moment for so long, yet he has no idea what to do with this information. </p><p>There’s a buzz in his back pocket. </p><p>
  <b> <em>(Name)</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Hey </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>(Name)</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s (name) </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>(Name)</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I picked up some of my stuff that i left in Atsumu’s room and I think one of these shirts is yours. </em>
</p><p>It doesn’t make any sense. It makes so little sense that he employs his brother’s help, and he obliges, disregarding whatever the fuck just happened between then because that’s what it means to be brothers. </p><p>“Yeah, that’s a fuckin lie,” Atsumu says flatly. “But she wants you to go over.”</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>Atsumu’s deadpan glare has improved over the years. Osamu feels genuinely stupid when he looks at him that way. </p><p>“Go over there and figure it out.”</p><p> </p><p>There was this one time before you and Atsumu became official (or as he’s come to understand, “official”) that Osamu thought you liked him.</p><p>It was when you came by the restaurant with Yukie. You couldn’t have known that he worked there—at this point your hang outs were tangential to Bokuto and his friend with the weird hair who you seemed close to. He never got his hopes up because of him, but seeing you in a setting without any boys gave him a tiny sliver of hope that would be torn to shreds in a couple weeks. </p><p>But Osamu didn’t know that yet, so with all the confidence he could muster and the painfully sweet reminder that he was off the clock in five minutes, he walked by your table to take your drink order. He did nothing other than that, but he’d gained your attention. </p><p>You said something to Yukie (who he actually does know non tangentially, she’s in the store a lot) and he can feel your eyes from across the room. He smiles to himself, a little too giddy with all the minimal interaction. </p><p>He cannot reiterate how much this confidence will be pummeled to ground in the coming weeks, but he likes to think about how cute you look in the red vinyl booth seats, the dark lighting making chiaroscuro shadows dance on your face. </p><p>Once, when you were drunk out of your mind alongside Atsumu, he took you home. Your stop wasn’t too far from theirs on the train station, and he couldn’t bear to leave you with anyone else, much less his equally drained brother. While you waited, he would watch the light from the train station flicker over you. Shadows stretched endlessly and dramatically on your face. Sometimes he wonders if you’re hardwired to stand in the most cinematic lighting possible. </p><p>He still remembered how to get to your place from that memory alone.</p><p>It’s an actual townhouse you’re renting from your roommates’ rich parents. It’s in one of the nicer parts of the city, with iron gates in the front and flowering trees that scattered petals onto the sidewalk. They crumple underneath his sneakers as he walks with his neck craned, searching for the numbers on the houses. The folks that walk these streets at night eye him because his hands are in his pockets and he’s walking with a kind of purpose that’s strangely urgent. </p><p>If he stops moving before he reaches your house, he might punk out from the nausea. Osamu knows he is delirious, and Atsumu was probably wrong about your intentions because it would be just like Atsumu to embarrass him like this. But the part of him that never let you go needs to see this through.  </p><p>What someone might think of him now. One of the legendary Miya Twins, suffering because of feelings? Rotting in the hell that was sentimentality? Fucking unreal.</p><p>But he’s at your door, at an hour close to midnight, still in work rags. There’s a Cinderella metaphor to be made somewhere in all this, but he’s not in the mood for it. </p><p>It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to gather the courage to ring your doorbell, and it takes an agonizingly long time for you to answer. He realizes dumbly that in his haste he’d forgotten to <em> let you know he’s coming. </em></p><p>It’d be futile to say anything now, especially when he can hear footsteps and the sound of you unlocking the door and holy shit, there you are. He’s on the front step below you and when you look down it’s like a goddess has finally shown him favor. You open your mouth to say something when a breeze whistles through the crack in the door. </p><p>“Holy shit, get inside,” you say, ushering him in with wondrous hospitality. He takes his shoes off and it only occurs to him after he’s following you to the kitchen that it was a pretty presumptuous thing to do. </p><p>But you don’t call him out. You say nothing, actually, just offering tea to him, already lukewarm. You probably made this a while ago. </p><p>It’s also quiet, too quiet for there to be another person living here. “Hifumi and Yukie are out,” you say, and he can’t tell if this is a lie. However, you probably wouldn’t be speaking so loudly if they were asleep. </p><p>Osamu nods. He does nothing else but sip his tea—he tries not to look around, because then he’ll remember he’s in your house and he’ll get even <em> more </em> sentimental than he already is. </p><p>“This is a nice house,” he says lamley, and you shuffle your feet. Your socks have tigers on them. It’s adorable.</p><p>“Thanks. Most of the stuff is Hifumi’s.”</p><p>“Is she the one who—”</p><p>“Paid Yukie for an introduction to Bokuto?” You smile fondly, like extortion is nostalgic. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Your friends are so weird.”</p><p>“Your brother’s one of my friends, so I guess that much is true.”</p><p>Osamu doesn’t pretend to be surprised. He didn’t come all this way to play coy. But he <em> does </em> want a confirmation from you, so he asks, “Just friends?”</p><p>He can’t read the expression on your face. Your hands are clasped behind your back, and in your sweatshirt and leggings you look especially small. “We broke up. It’s a new thing. It’s going to suck telling everyone.”</p><p>Osamu can only imagine that. He wonders if he wasn’t here right now if there would be a line of boys trying to have their fill of you. He also wonders why you’re not trying to drink and party away the feelings.</p><p>Atsumu had admitted on the short train ride they shared that he wasn’t particularly broken up about you. The partying was a consequence of no longer having you as a distraction from <em> someone else </em>. </p><p>You must have known Atsumu didn’t love you, and probably for a while. It had to have hurt. So why were you wasting your time luring him to your house? The prospect that you’re doing all this because you <em> like </em> him is becoming a bigger possibility and frankly, Osamu doesn’t know how to quantify that information. It’s all a guessing game.</p><p>He needs to know. </p><p>“(Name),” He says hesitantly. “Do you really have one of my shirts here?”</p><p>Your chest rises, but it doesn’t fall. “No,” you say honestly, your eyes on him. “I lied.”</p><p>“Why.”</p><p>“Because I didn’t think you’d come if I told you the truth.”</p><p>Osamu hasn’t been on a roller coaster in years, but he feels that unmistakable lurch in his gut, like he’s teetering over the edge of something daunting and unknown. He feels a little like throwing up, and a little like screaming. “What’s the truth?”</p><p>Your arms are wrapped protectively around your middle. You look scared, and Osamu’s stomach drops because he’s terrified of hurting you, despite the turmoil you’ve caused him. He steps closer, gingerly touching two fingertips to your chin, tilting it upwards. Your eyes hit the floor, before trailing up to his face. </p><p>You've never found the twins looks to be uncanny; they were so diametrically opposed in personality and appearance. Atsumu has always been the sun—bright hair, all smiles all the time, louder than life. Overshadowing. You’d heard that back in high school Osamu had his hair dyed a complimentary silvery grey, but now it was all inky black, like a starless sky. Always in his brother’s shadow, like the moon.</p><p>You had always liked the moon more than the sun, anyways. </p><p> When you look at him, his eyes soft in a way you didn’t know they could be, you can’t help but laugh. Everything makes sense now, and you can hear Atsumu’s soft chuckle like an echo. <em> It’s about time. </em></p><p>“How crazy would it be to date someone, only to be in love with his twin brother?” Your smile is crooked and unsure, tears springing in your eyes. “I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear.”</p><p>Osamu feels like he can finally breathe. The vice grip squeezing his chest for the past few months dissipates as his heart swells. He gives you an ecstatic grin, one that makes his eyes look like they’re glowing. “Sounds fuckin insane to me.”</p><p>There’s a laugh bubbling under your lips but he muffles it when he bends down to kiss you. His fingers splay across your cheeks, while his other hand snakes around your waist to pull you closer. The room spins like he has vertigo and he swears he does, because when he pulls away all that swirls in his vision is you. </p><p>You, looking at him so adoringly. Osamu cranes his neck to touch your forehead to his. It looks uncomfortable. </p><p>“Here,” you say, pushing him back a little. His face falls as you put distance between you two, but when you sit on the table behind you his grin turns wicked. He steps into the space between your legs, looming over you. </p><p>“Oya? You shouldna done that.” One of the hands at your waist falls to the top of your hip, pulling you closer to him. He kisses you again, this time with passion as you feel teeth nip at your lips. His fingers tap rhythmically against your leg before he slides his hand closer to the apex of your thighs. </p><p>You shiver as his nails scratch against the fabric. His thumb rubs mindless circles that make you gasp against his mouth. He uses the moment to trail slow, sucking kisses down the column of your throat. </p><p>“Hmmm, Osa—<em> ha! </em>” His teeth nip at still healing hickey just above the base of your neck. Osamu stops completely, looking down at it in contempt. </p><p>“Did Atsumu give you that?” His voice is so low it hurts your own throat just to listen to. When you say nothing, the hand at your thighs skips over your core and rubs at the inside of your other leg. “Did he?”</p><p>“Yes,” you say breathlessly. He hums. </p><p>“Guess I’ll have to do it better.” </p><p> His tongue slides at the same time as his hand; he licks a wet stripe up to the existing hickey while his palm meets your crotch. Your head falls back and Osamu can feel your breath hitch in your throat against his lips. He sinks his teeth roughly into your skin, using his other hand to keep your head just where he wants it. </p><p>When he grunts softly in your ear, it travels straight to your core, and you buck your hips into his infuriatingly still hand. He tries to hide his laughter, but you can feel his lips curve against your throat. </p><p>Something about it gives you the courage to say “What’s so funny?” as if you’re not writhing under him at his mercy. </p><p>His head is still in the crook of your neck, but his eyes meet yours in a burning gaze. You’re trying very hard to look angry, but your breathing comes out in rugged pants from your swollen, parted lips. </p><p>The self satisfied look on his face is one you’ve seen many times from Atsumu, but somehow the Osamu remix is worse. He still has a hand firmly against the juncture of your neck, and in one quick succession you lean into the touch and take his thumb into your mouth. </p><p>The sight alone makes Osamu’s pulse go straight to his dick, but the <em> sound </em>. He knows porn isn’t real and no one moans like that, but you’re pretty fuckin close as you give an exaggerted groan around his digit. </p><p>He feels your tongue swirl around the pad of his thumb and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your head bobs lightly, spit dribbling down his hand and your chin. You let go with a soft <em> pop </em> and a sigh that makes his already hardening dick strain against his pants. </p><p>“Not so funny now, hm?” You say, lowering your eyelids dangerously. “We could play games all night.”</p><p>The statement snaps Osamu back to reality. He brings the hand now slick with your saliva onto your neck. The fingers that were stroking your clothed entrance suddenly increased pressure, and his hand lightly squeezed your throat. </p><p>The tension made your breath hitch, only made even more intense when Osamu put his lips next to your ear. “I intend to take all night with you, but I ain’t in the mood for games.” He suddenly took both his hands away from you, earning a high pitched whine from the back of your throat. “I’ve been patient for a long time sweetheart, I can wait.”</p><p>“<em> Please,” </em>you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and willing for the ache in your thighs to be relieved. “Osamu, please.”</p><p>He’s unsure when the last time you said his given name was, but <em> fuck </em> is he fond of how it sounds now. He tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, his hands soft and caressing. You expected a glint of sadism in his eyes, but they too were gentle and loving. “You have to tell me you want it, baby.”</p><p>“When they said consent was sexy they meant it,” you joke, and he’s rolling his eyes at you again. “Sorry, let me try that again. <em> Osamu!” </em> You scream in the loudest, fakest moan. “ <em> Please fuck me!” </em></p><p>“I swear to god, (Name),”</p><p>“God’s got nothing to do with this. By the end of the night you’re going to worshiping me, not him.”</p><p> </p><p>You take it back; maybe God said something when he shined dawn’s first rays upon Osamu Miya’s perfectly sculpted back. Surely the sight of him asleep on your queen mattress was a vision that couldn’t be more gorgeous if Michelangelo painted it on the Sistine Chapel. </p><p>You’re staring at him like the piece of art he is, smiling even though it pains you. You think your cheeks are stuck like this. </p><p>A visible shiver goes down his spine and his breaths puff into his pillow. (He sleeps on his stomach, the complete opposite of his brother. You’ll try to refrain from comparing your <em> escapades </em> with the two, but you find the differences endearing.)</p><p>Something ripples across his entire body and his mouth opens in a silent groan. He’s shaking, and from the way his brows pinch you half an inkling of what's going on. </p><p>And then his hips buck, no doubt assuming they’d hit the curve of your ass, as you’d fallen asleep that way, but it just barely skims the front of your thighs. You briefly think about teasing him, but his hands wander and find purchase on your hips. </p><p>He groans again, but this time he cracks an eye open. Osamu blinks once, and you can tell his mouth is twitching into a lazy smile.</p><p> “Hi.” His voice is so rough and laced with sleep and you have to clench your thighs to alienate the ache. </p><p>“Hey,” you reply, inching ever so slightly closer. “Having a good dream?”</p><p>“This is better.” He nestles his head into the pillow. His hair is a rats nest and something about his raspy sighs are cute. You were never given the honor of seeing Atsumu so vulnerable; after the performance it was usually a quick, irreverent “see you later” and you got on with your life. </p><p>But <em> this </em>, waking up without your chest aching with yearning; this was ideal. </p><p>Osamu’s hands slip under your sleep shirt and glide across your skin. His touch fries your nerves and makes your brain short circuit.  </p><p>“I like this a lot better. You’re really pretty when you’re quiet,” he says this like he’s just figured it out for the first time, his knuckles now skimming your cheeks. “That sounded really shitty.”</p><p>You hold his hand to keep it on your face. “I know what you mean.”</p><p>“I don’t care if you’re quiet. I just like you.”</p><p>Atsumu has never said that he liked you. Actually, that isn’t true. When he’d first met you, that night at Iwaizumi’s house, you’d made a joke that made his eyebrows raise, and he declared with a cunning grin, “<em> I like her </em>.” It never held any weight, though. </p><p>Your smile drops as you think about it. “I’m not who you think I am. I should have told you that before.”</p><p>Osamu’s face adapts that indifferent expression he so often wears. It doesn’t quite read that way anymore though. His fingertips are still lightly brushing against your face. </p><p>“Were you pretending, last night?” The way he says <em> pretending </em> leaves you strangely seen. It feels like he’s dumped acid on your skin and it’s melting off, leaving you all muscle and bone. He sees through you easily. Being Atsumu’s brother must give him that superpower. </p><p>But his question isn’t one of concern; it seems pointed. “No,” you answer, spending no time at all to think about it. </p><p>“That’s all I can ask for then.”</p><p>All of this soul searching and realization is taxing, so you bury your face in your pillow, facing away from him. This action is double pronged—you don’t want Osamu to see you cry. Ridiculous, really, when he’s seen you babbling his name over and over again like it’s the only word you know. </p><p>But he knows you are crying, and he pulls you into his chest. You sigh, pressing your back to his chest in an appreciation of the gesture. Then you jerk back just as quickly, looking at him over your shoulder Osamu looks down in questioning, seeing your eyes narrowed. </p><p>“What?” He thinks for a moment you might not want to be comforted, but then you grind on the morning wood poking into your ass. “Well I wasn’t going to say anything while you were crying.”</p><p>“I could have helped you first!”</p><p>“Eager, are we?”</p><p>“I could make you get rid of it yourself, you know.”</p><p>He hums in your ear. “I don’t remember ever mentioning it to you.”</p><p>“You tried to hump me in your sleep, wise ass.”</p><p>“Ah,” he says, and you detect embarrassment. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Does that happen a lot?” You question, wondering what exactly he was dreaming about. </p><p>“Doesn’t matter.” He’s gripping your hips and pulling you backwards, trying to grind into you. </p><p>“Why are you avoiding the subject?”</p><p>“Why would I fixate on a dream when one’s living right in front ‘a me?”</p><p>Your face burns, and you cover them with your hands. You want to scream because he’s so stupidly earnest. </p><p>“You’re so easy to fluster,” he laughs, rutting against the plush of your ass in a slow, methodical manner. “It’s cute.”</p><p>The hand on your waist trails slowly down your skin, burning every nerve in its wake. You arch your back into him, and his chest reverberates with a chuckle. His nose nuzzles the shell of your ear, and his lips are at your neck.</p><p>He drums his fingers just at the waistband of your shorts. Even the smallest touches have you rolling your hips trying to find friction. “I’d say you’re more eager than I am.”  </p><p>“Hmm?” you question, reaching back to palm the bulge in his boxers. He hisses, bucking his hips into your hand. “You were saying?”</p><p>As retaliation, Osamu nips at your ear, then slides his hands down so his middle finger presses roughly against your clit. You jerk back in surprise, and he slips his knee in between your legs to open them further.  </p><p>“Huh,” he says, rubbing slow, torturous circles on your sensitive bud. The satisfied puff of air you give is music to his ears. His finger is replaced with his thumb as his hand slips across your slit, already slick with arousal. “That’s a lotta confidence for someone who’s this wet.”</p><p>It’s not a competition anymore. This was supposed to be about <em> him </em>, not you, but you’re needy and ready. “Osamu,” you tut breathlessly. “Don’t draw this out.”</p><p>“Maybe if you say please,” he mummers. He’s just rubbing his two fingers between your lips, not making any effort to pleasure you any faster. “I gotta hear you say it babe.”</p><p>He’s sadistic and stubborn, just like his brother. It was to be expected. But you give into him much quicker than he expected, whimpering out a desperate “<em> Please!” </em>when his other hand pinches your nipple through your shirt. </p><p>“Since you asked so nicely.” He goes knuckle deep in an <em> instant </em>, and you clench against the intrusion. He’s hardly moving his hand, yet between your cunt sucking him in and your bouncing hips, it feels so good. </p><p>“God, you are so good.” you say as he curls his fingers to hit the spot that has you leaning your head back against him. He adds a third finger at your praise and you give a high pitched whimper. “Right there.”</p><p> “Shit,” he whispers behind your ear. He’s grinding against your ass in time with the thrust of your hips, getting delicious friction on the head of his still clothed cock. “Fuck, I can’t wait.”</p><p>His hand slips out as easy as it came in, and a rush of liquid drips down the side of your thigh. Osamu doesn’t even bother sticking his hand in your mouth; you’re already riled up, bucking against his knee with impatience.</p><p>He removes his knee to slide down his boxers, and you whine. He gives a soft squeeze to the side of your hip, asking to lift them up. You oblige letting him pull down your underwear, and when his uncovered cock pokes at the seam of your closed thighs your chest tightens. </p><p>It’s insane how excited you are to have repeat sex with him. You’re still baffled by the natural progression of everything; it’s too perfect, like a slow burn fanfiction. 16k words, oblivious idiots to lovers. Warning: extreme pining. </p><p>The thought leaves your mind when Osamu’s hand—still slick with your juices—lifts your leg. You hike it up and he kisses the back of your neck. “You okay?”</p><p>He’s such a gentleman. He waits for you to verbally say yes before positioning his hips just right. His curved cock brushes against your folds and he relishes in the shiver that goes down your spine. He runs his cock up and down your slit, loving how you coat him so easily. </p><p>You’re about to open your mouth to tell him to go ahead, but he sinks in nice and easy. The initial stretch is agonizingly slow and your chest caves as you breath in. Osamu feels your resistance and presses a lingering kiss to your temple. </p><p>“You’re doing good baby, just breath out, real slow.” His rib cage expands against your back and you try to mirror the rhythm. He pulls out slowly, brushes against your folds again, and repeats. When he pulls out the second time he leaves the tip in, then gives one quick thrust up. </p><p>“F-fuck,” you stutter. “Please, <em> move.” </em></p><p>“Anything for you, baby.” He doesn’t even have the patience to tease you at this point, he’s too focused on slamming his cock all the way into your cunt. His palm comes up just under your breast, other hand gripping your waist so hard it could bruise. The bed bounces as he starts to snap his hips faster, thrusting just quick enough to make you start gasping. </p><p>He’s pacing himself because your tight, velvety walls are squeezing him like a vice. A very pleasant, soft, wet vice. You’re so vocal, panting heavily and never muffling yourself because in the one night you’ve shared so far, you’ve come to find that he likes noise. </p><p>So when a particularly harsh thrust precedes a slow stroke upwards you exhale a shuddering breath. “So good-” you manage to say over the haze of pleasure. Your hands come up behind his neck like you’re holding on for dear life. “Oh my god, so <em> good </em>.” </p><p>He grunts in your ear and it makes you clench, your cunt milking him deliciously. “You take me so well baby. You feel—<em> uh,” </em>a well timed thrust makes you weaker than you already are, keening into his touch. “You feel fucking amazing around my cock. Wonder what your mouth would feel like.”</p><p>You whimper out for him again, this time saying his name. “Osamu, faster,” you plead, and he obliges you, thrusting up in an even faster rhythm than before. It’s all pooling into your stomach and his hand snakes down your waist to run circles around your clit and you can’t help but scream. </p><p>“FUCK! <em> Fuck </em>,” your mouth hangs open, slurring your words. “Osamu, I’m-”</p><p>“You’re?”</p><p>How he can still be a slight asshole never fails to amuse you, but your painfully building orgasm blinds you to it. “I’m gunna cum, please make me cum, please, <em> please!” </em></p><p>He’s slamming into you with a force that rocks your whole bed and your spine curves when he applies more pressure to your clit. His teeth nip at you ear and by the way his thrusts are becoming frantic you know he’s close too. </p><p>“Where?” He asks, you’re so, so close and his rough voice makes you teeter on the edge of it. “Where do you want me?”</p><p>“Inside,” you choke out. “Please come inside me.”</p><p>He snaps. He lifts his hips ever so slightly so he can thrust further in, and you swear he hits your goddamn cervix. The pressure builds in your stomach and again you’re just gasping for air and choking on his name like it’ll save your life. The hand on your stomach reaches up to your throat, palm pressing against your neck with a pressure that just barely constructs you. You unravel, cumming onto his cock and when he follows not seconds after, you’re so feverish you can’t discern up from down. All you know is the feeling of being filled from the inside out.</p><p>Your hips are stalled, but Osamu bounces you and helps ride out your high. His chest is molded to your back and you feel your matched breaths going in and out. </p><p>He takes a second to gather some strength before pulling out. You collapse onto your stomach, eyes fluttering closed as you drink in the moment.</p><p>Osamu splays out on his back, catching his breath. He closes his eyes with a peaceful smile, resting his hands on his stomach. You snort when you see it. </p><p>“What?” He cracks one eye open to look at you. </p><p>“You look like you’re in a casket.” You draw up your arm and lean against it. “Here lies Osamu Miya, killed cause the pussy was too good.” </p><p>“Hmm, I didn’t say all <em> that </em>.”</p><p>“From what I recall of last night, you’ve been, oh, how did you put it?”</p><p>“Stop-” he warns, side eyeing you. </p><p>“‘Shamefully pining after me for months’?”</p><p>He effortlessly takes the pillow from underneath his head and wacks you with it. In the time it took you to recover, Osamu was already looming over you, capturing you in a bruising kiss to silence you. </p><p>He looks at you with the reverence and tenderness one might associate with love. It feels strangely real in this moment. </p><p>And then the moment shatters into a million pieces as you hear pounding down the stairs. It’s  two sets of bulldozing feet, coming towards your bedroom at the speed of light. You only have time to pull the blanket over you and Osamu before cackles fill the hallway outside your room. </p><p>“HEY LOVEBIRDS!” the unmistakably smug sound of Yukie’s voice makes your blood cold with embarrassment. “You know you have roommates right?”</p><p>“Hi Osamu!” Hifumi’s voice is still sweet like babys breath and honey even when she’s laughing at you. </p><p>You look at Osamu wildly. “Don’t answer her.”</p><p>“Hi, Hifumi.”</p><p>The teasing streak is hereditary. You’re not surprised; just disappointed. Mostly in yourself. </p><p>“We’re gunna get breakfast since it sounds like you two worked up an appetite. Want anything in particular?”</p><p>“I’ll eat whatever.” He’s yelling this over your head. His cock was in you seconds ago and he’s now having a conversation with your roommates through a door. It brings a giddy smile to your lips. </p><p><em> This </em>is what you meant when you said you wanted more. The feeling of fullness wasn’t restricted to sex; it was the tranquility in knowing he cared enough to stick around for the smaller things like this. </p><p>You couldn’t help the feeling of tears pricking in your eyes. Your back hit the mattress and you stared at the ceiling, reveling in the moment. <em> Thank you, God.  </em></p><p>“You’re crying again,” Osamu rubs his thumb lightly under your eye.</p><p>“I got lint in my eye.”</p><p>“I don’t care if you’re a crybaby,” he says. “As long as you’re happy.”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“And you’re not pretending?”</p><p>“I never am with you.” </p><p>He believes you. </p><p> </p><p>Loving you is the easy part; he’s been practicing for months, but as it turns out the real thing is far less painful. </p><p>The moments that are harder pay off in the long run. Osamu has to do everything backwards because he’s neglected to take you on a date, or even properly ask you out before subjecting your roommates to your sex noises. Yukie and Hifumi are not fans of this approach; they told him as much over the breakfast they so graciously bought after listening to you scream his name so loud it made your neighbors dog have a panic attack. </p><p>He considered it more of an interrogation than breakfast, with their shooting glares at him over the table. Never mind the fact that Yukie knew him and Hifumi was an angel incarnate; their questions were aimed with the sole purpose of destroying him. </p><p>It’s only when you steal one of the strawberries off his pancakes nonchalantly and he does nothing but give you a starry eyed smile do they understand he would never hurt you. </p><p>Atsumu was similarly easy to charm into the idea, probably because he already knew. And also because he had a new distraction, which you found out the hard way. Osamu was impatient when you stopped riding him just to listen to the adjoining wall, but you swore you heard Atsumu groan. </p><p>“I know what it sounds like.”</p><p>“Please do not remind me of that <em> right now.” </em></p><p>It came again, and this time Osamu sat up to heatedly whisper in your ear, “you think ‘Tsumu gets off to hearing us? Do you like that?” </p><p>You’re <em> this </em> close to grinding your hips again when you hear the bed frame rattle against the wall, along with a whiny “ <em> Atsumu-san!” </em> that does not belong to any girl. </p><p>This is your introduction to Hinata Shoyou, along with a double date where the sun-tanned ginger angel can’t quite look you in the eyes. When Hinata leaves to take a phone call (possibly to avoid the awkwardness of it all,) you beam at Atsumu so genuinely he winces. </p><p>“He’s so perfect,” you say with excitement, propping your head on your hand. “He makes you really happy, Atsumu. Keep it that way.”</p><p>Atsumu blinks, and Osamu remembers that the fastest way to shut his twin up is with sincerity. He takes your hand under the table and fights the urge to kiss you. Then he thinks better of it and kisses your temple quickly. </p><p>“God, don’t do that in front of me.”</p><p>“I had to listen to Shoyou moan your name, this is the least you can do.”</p><p>Things have settled into normal. Not that you dating one twin and then the other is going to make national news, but people somehow <em> know </em>. They see you at Atsumu’s games, having study dates with Osamu on campus, and it seems the general population that was seething at your relationship with Atsumu (whoever they may be) is mentally calling you a whore.</p><p>These are your concerns, anyways, and Osamu is diligent in reminding you that he’s not in a million years interested in what anyone else has to say. </p><p>“Do you wanna be with me?”</p><p>“Of course,” you say without missing a beat. </p><p>“Then don’t worry about it.”</p><p>The spring turns to summer with its golden hours and blazing heat, even in metropolitan Tokyo. On the nights Osamu isn’t working you like to crash by the apartment and spend time with the twins, sitting in the middle but having your back pressed against Osamu’s side while Atsumu spins some story about volleyball practice, or waxes poetically about Shoyou’s skills. They both walk you home because you make them (they’re weak to your whims) and Atsumu feins retching as his brother kisses you goodnight. </p><p>On a particular night in early July, Atsumu is strangely quiet after the twins have bid you goodnight. Under the street lamps his hair really does look piss yellow, but it’s actually not bad otherwise. He’s been using the purple toning shampoo you gave him. </p><p>His hands are stuffed in his pockets and Osamu knows he’s going to say something, and with an ounce of respect, he stays silent to let Atsumu have the moment. </p><p>“You were really always in love with her,” he says, and something about it curdles Osamu’s stomach. It’s not a statement of triumph, rather a bashful observation. </p><p>“‘Tsumu,”</p><p>“Eh? What’s with the tone?” He swivels sharply to meet his brother's gaze. There’s nothing even remotely unhappy on his features. “I aint sad, I’m pitying <em> you </em> . What kinda man <em> pines </em> after a girl like that, huh? Pathetic.” </p><p>“Did you ever love her?” Osamu has always had to be the more mature one, even if it pained him. </p><p>“I toldya already-”</p><p>“You never told me this was okay.”</p><p>Osamu would rather drop dead than give a shit about his brother’s opinion. He has a reputation of looking heartless while simultaneously being the gentler twin. Their relationship is too complex to even be the fucking yin yang metaphor everyone loves to describe them as, because Osamu would rather get hit by a truck than stay conditional to Atsumu. </p><p>And yet, they went to the same university, and lived in the same apartment. Osamu doesn’t go to sleep if Atsumu isn’t home, because the infallible truth is he would unravel at the seams if anything ever happened to his brother, least of all, if <em> he </em> caused him harm. </p><p>Atsumu doesn’t scoff, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t do anything to lessen the severity of his statement when he says, “I’m only sayin’ this once: I’m so glad yer happy with her because if you spent another day with that miserable look on yer face, I woulda killed you.”</p><p>It’s a rare, almost touching moment. Osamu would rather forget his brother has ever been kind to him, and it seems Atsumu is in agreement because he quickly adds, “And who cares if you had my seconds anyways?”</p><p>“I’m telling her you said that.”</p><p>“<em> GOD </em> no,” he begs, worry flashing in his eyes. “She’ll beat my ass or worse; she’ll start <em> crying.” </em></p><p>Sincerity is the quickest way to kill either Miya twin, and to that end, you’re manning the guillotine with a sweet smile and tears in your eyes. Some angel you are. </p><p>Summer fades into cooler breezes, but the days are still stretching themselves out. Light is still clinging to the sky when you and Osamu reach the impromptu “party” at Iwaizumi’s upgraded apartment, courtesy of his new job as a physical trainer. </p><p>“Iwa-chan, how close do you get to your clients? Asking for a friend.” Atsumu has gained quick reflexes from years of studying volleyball, but also from saying shit like that to the wrong people. Having a sibling keeps him in peak shape, but even so, Iwaizumi’s impressive biceps almost catch him. </p><p>“I don’t even know why I invite you here.” </p><p>“What do you mean? I’m the life of the party!”</p><p>You’re settled into a corner—you, the girl who dances on tables sitting is comfortably in the corner? It helps that you’re sitting squarely on Osamu’s lap for a number of reasons, least of all that there’s no space. Osamu is content with this. </p><p>From your shared corner you cup your hands over your mouth. “You’re only the life of the party because I’m decommissioned!”</p><p>“You were only cool because of me!”</p><p>“Hey, (Name) was cool before she met you!” Bless Bokuto’s heart, which can only fit in his chest because his pecs are so huge. </p><p>“Yeah,” Yukie says with her mouth comically full of snacks. “Fuck off Atsumu!”</p><p>“Honestly I prefer her over you, Miya-san.” Akaashi says this with practiced politeness, but the gleam in his eyes are anything but. </p><p>“Yeah!” Even Hinata, who ten seconds ago was nowhere to be found (but is now snug against Atsumu’s side) jumps in. “Sorry Atsumu, you’re really great, but (Name) is so sweet!”</p><p>“Hear that! Even your brother <em> and </em> your boyfriend like me better than you!” You wound your arms around Osamu’s neck, aiming a perfect smile just at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalls the night you first met, and he thinks he may just replace that memory with this one. This is better, he thinks. This feels nice. </p><p>“Hey,” you say softly, gaining his attention. You have a small pout on your lips. “Don’t ignore me.”</p><p>“Yer sitting on my entire lap.”</p><p>“Am I too clingy?”</p><p>“No,” he says snaking his hand to hold you closer to him.</p><p>“Good, cause I don’t wanna get up.” You place your head in the crook of his neck, with your soft hair ticking his nose. It’s childish and sweet, and Osamu chuckles, burying his face in your hair. </p><p>Osamu doesn’t have to imagine these things anymore. Perhaps your sentimentality has been rubbing off on him. If it means you’ll stay, he doesn’t quite mind it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A couple things:<br/>1) if you take a shot for every semi colon I use you’d be dead<br/>2) my absolute disregard to give any type of concise timeline that might be accurate to Japanese University semesters is appalling<br/>3) Iwas apartment cost roughly 450 USD because that’s the price most students in my town pay but I’m completely neglecting the fact that they live in goddamn Tokyo<br/>I’m cheezritsu on tumblr!! come say hi</p></blockquote></div></div>
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